


Half a Cream Cheese Bagel:  Or, A Collection of Random XF Ficlets

by MachaSWicket



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, I blame tumblr for this, impromptu ficlets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: Haven't written these two in 20 years. I blame tumblr. I also apologize. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Recordation

 

She didn’t know it was possible to miss names written on a page so keenly, not until she really  _sees_  them again. Together.

Mulder is to her left, leg jiggling with energy, a shitty blue Bic in his hand as he scrawls his name on each page and slides the paper to her. His signature grows larger and messier with each iteration, but she knows the strong  _F_ , the soft  _M_ , the hitch in the  _R_  maybe even better than she knows her own signature. 

And so she grips her sleek metal pen tighter and adds her name to his.

Their history is written like this –- signatures on countless field reports, car rental agreements, and more hospital admission forms than she’s entirely comfortable with. So while this circumstance is new –- this assembly line-like signing of page after page of mortgage documents -– pairing their signatures is as familiar to her as breathing.

God, she’s missed this.

There’s a giddy happiness in her chest, like he’s carving their names in a tree, or she’s circling his initials with a heart on the cover of her Trapper Keeper. Because somehow this simple administrative burden is driving home the fact that this is real. 

 _They_  are real. Again.

 _Finally_.

Maybe someday there will be a marriage certificate with their signatures. Maybe not. But after too long apart, Scully is happy just to see their names inked beside each other. 

Because they’re recording a new bit of history. Together. 

-30-

_Note: I don’t know what this is. ;)_


	2. FBI Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dashakay asked, so… [Also, it’s kind of real-estate-y again??] Super drafty and weird, sorry!
> 
> [TUMBLR POST WITH PIC/PROMPT](http://machawicket.tumblr.com/post/127493450802/awwww-cute-fbi-cat-source).

 

Their first night in their new place, Scully and Mulder crack open a bottle of wine and drink it on the small front porch, just taking in everything.

It’s a small, old neighborhood, with big trees and reasonably sized plots. Their place is like most of the houses in the neighborhood, a Federal-style brick houses with well-worn shutters. Scully is still arguing with Mulder over color options, and they toss the subject back and forth as dusk drains their maroon door into a dark grey.

Mulder lights a citrus candle and scoots it closer to her; she shifts in their newly purchased chairs, but the thin cushion doesn’t do much to soften the wrought iron beneath it. She takes another sip, her gaze drifting across the neighborhood.

It’s a nice mix, as far as she can tell. There are young families with squealing children; there’s a distinguished older gentleman who, they will learn, takes a constitutional stroll each evening at precisely at 7 p.m., rain or shine or blizzard; there are several quiet houses, where lights go on and off, but Scully doesn’t actually see the occupants for weeks on end.

There aren’t a lot of fenced in yards, so the pet owners tend to walk their dogs on leashes. That first night, they see a German Shepard, a Rottweiler, two pudgy Pugs, and some sort of Pit mix with her pink tongue lolling. Scully smiles and waves (probably more to the dogs than the humans, if she’s being honest), while Mulder simply lifts his wineglass in acknowledgment.

“We should get a dog,” she murmurs, taking a sip of the Cabernet. It’s a nice wine, though a little heavy for the late spring warmth. “Seems to be the thing to do here.”

“I’ll compromise on a cat,” he answers, leaning towards her and letting his fingers trail along her thigh.

She reaches down, tangling their fingers together, and exhales. “We can’t walk a cat and meet the neighbors.”

“Who says I want to meet the neighbors?” he shoots back, grinning a little.

She quirks an eyebrow. “I thought for sure you’d want to ingratiate yourself to them, so any hint of anyone looking into you or me would be relayed back to us. An early warning system.”

He huffs a laugh. “I don’t like to rely on the kindness of strangers.” His grip on her tightens. “That’s what I’ve got you for.”

“You’ve got me to rely on the kindness of strangers  _for_ you?” she asks, hiding her amusement behind her wine glass.

“No I’ve got you to rely on,” he says, tugging her closer to press a heartfelt, though still rather chaste kiss to her lips. “C’mon, G-woman, let’s go make this house a home.”

This time, she’s can’t hide her laughter. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Damn straight,” he says, his knee cracking as he pushes himself upright. 

& & &

Three days later, Mulder comes home from an overly long trip to the store with a cat carrier tucked under his arm and a sheepish look. “I have a little bit of a confession,” he says, trying to give her that charming smile of his that stopped working on her years ago.

(That’s a lie – it still works on her, she’s just learned to hide her reactions a little bit better.)

Stone-faced, Scully crosses her arms. “Mulder, you can’t be serious.”

“I meant to adopt a dog, like you wanted.”

This bit of information actually turns her irritation level up, not down. “Shouldn’t that be something we do  _together_? A pet is a commitment, Mulder.”

“I was just going to look, I swear,” he explains, placing the carrier down and opening it. “But then I met her, and I couldn’t just walk away.”

Scully blinks, a little thrown by the phrasing of that. Then she narrows her eyes at him. “Mulder, what-–?”

“Scully, this is Sunflower,” he says, and he sounds so hopeful and so happy that she’s pretty sure the battle is already lost.

Even though he went out for bread and  _adopted a cat_. Who does that?

Scully glares at him a little more, then looks down at the tiny Siamese cat twining itself around her ankles. The cat looks up at Scully and meows.  _Loudly_. “Mulder!”

“Look at her face, Scully,” he urges, crouching down. Sunflower – and Scully is not planning to let him live  _that_  name down anytime soon – scampers right over to Mulder and rubs her face against his hands. Mulder dips his head down, letting Sunflower sniff his nose.

Oh, yes, the battle is absolutely lost. Scully leans against the wall and sighs. “We’re still getting a dog.”

Mulder grins up at her. “I’m not walking it.”

& & &

A week later, Scully comes home from the rescue with a white and brown, short-haired mutt of indeterminate origin that she’s decided to name Scout; a sleek, navy blue harness/collar/leash combo, with a coordinating tag already attached listing their names and their new address; and a Sunflower-sized cat harness that says “FBI” on it, because she’d laughed for five minutes when she saw it at the mental image of Mulder walking his cat.

The reality is even funnier.

-30-


End file.
